


Turning the Page

by queeriosn_milk



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bisexual Zelda Spellman, F/F, Happy Spellman Family Times, Lesbian Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Letty Is An Adorable Little Bean, Mary Wardwell Needs a Hug, More Like Gentle Progression, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Nosy Small Townies, Not Excruciatingly Slow, Parent Zelda Spellman, Slow Burn Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Very Gay Feelings, mommy zelda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeriosn_milk/pseuds/queeriosn_milk
Summary: "There is little doubt in Mary’s mind that Zelda Spellman is something special, maybe even precious. Especially now that she’s seen the ferocious woman dodge a punch, knock back shot after shot, and has the privilege of seeing her without make up first thing in the morning. Even now, the Supergirl pajamas she wears with matching fuzzy slippers just chisels away another block of stone from the atrophied organ masquerading as her heart.---When Mary Wardwell decides that her life needs a dramatic change, she doesn't expect the universe to send Zelda Spellman and her adorable daughter into her life. She's more than happy to join their orbit, filled with comic book heroes and laughter, even while the nosy citizens of Greendale whisper awful things about the loving mother. They must be lying.Zelda Spellman? A murderer? Impossible, right?Right?Mary isn't certain what the truth is, even less certain that she cares. After all, she might already be in love.
Relationships: Leticia Blackwood & Zelda Spellman, Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. Zelda Spellman: Parttime Superhero

For Mary Wardwell, springtime had never been a merciful season, always blowing irksome pollen and an endless pile of homework and projects to grade into her life with the sole intent of tormenting the gentle schoolteacher. Between the constant sneezing, watery eyes, and a growing list of responsibilities that go far beyond her humble position as social studies teacher, there was never time for the woman to enjoy the blossoming trees and warm weather her students gushed about when they returned from spring break. By the time the final exams and projects are graded in June, the pleasant season is over, dragging the oppressive heat of summer in its wake.

As a child, her July birthday was a curse. Too hot to enjoy outside because her parents refused the luxury of a backyard pool, though they could certainly afford it. Her friends, the few she managed to make, were shipped across the country into the arms of grandparents and camp directors soon as the final school bell rang over the neighborhood. On top of that, Mary was an only child, often left to her own devices by parents who would rather waste their lives away behind a desk than with their daughter. So, the quiet girl grew into a solitary woman, spending her birthdays alone with the flickering light from the candle of a single cupcake to celebrate another year passing.

This year, her 50th birthday begins with an crushing sense of despair and persistent showers that bathe the air with an uncomfortable, sticky feeling. The academic year has finished, leaving the high school resembling a ghost town, with her students splitting their time between the nearby lake and the air conditioned movie theater on Main Street. Each evening, when the sun disappears and the temperature drops to a bearable level, the teacher hears the cacophonous sound of their journeys home squeezed into borrowed family cars.

When she rises from her bed, the sound of her bones _cracking_ and _creaking_ are a disturbing wake up call, alerting her to the reality of her age. She does not want to think of herself as _old_ , but standing in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom, Mary cannot believe the woman she sees staring back at her. By all accounts, she recognizes the delicate gray hairs peppered across her temples and the shadows hanging under her eyes that she can’t seem to escape. However, she’s most shocked (and a little frightened) to see the ghost of her late mother watching her in the glass. While memories of a strict mother and complacent father deal a heavy blow to her self-esteem, the unspoken truth that she will celebrate another birthday alone is more devastating. No husband, no children, and no friends to speak of. A mass of dark clouds looms over her spirit, leaving the introverted woman with a sense of anguish as she considers the utterly miserable state of her life.

Once upon a time, before her parents died, she was engaged to a man named Adam with the sweetest hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled and dreams of showing Mary the world. There wasn’t anything exceptional about Adam, an overworked hospital intern studying to take his skills to communities without the means to care for their ill. She believed his hard work was admirable and accepted his invitations because _that’s what her parents wanted._ Aspirations aside, Adam was uncomplicated, bordering on mind-numbingly boring, but safe. Unaware that he was more interested in Mary than she could ever be him.

Nevertheless, they were happy _(enough)_ together, following the rituals of conventional heterosexual life. There were dates to fine restaurants and movie theaters, dinners with her parents, and even the discussion of an engagement. He made her laugh and her parents absolutely worshiped him, having finally taken interest in her life when they retired. For a short period, Mary believed she loved Adam, more than any of the boyfriends from her youth that she found herself dating simply because they pursued her first.

She soon realized that the love she felt wasn’t romantic.

_Familiar._

_Platonic._

_Absolutely never sexual._

When Adam finished his internship, he offered to take her around the globe and open her eyes to the world she could never see from the windows of her childhood home. But, she couldn’t bring herself to take his hand and escape into the jungle for adventures unknown. Used the excuse of her parent’s failing health to remain in the tiny town that treated her like a leper. The boy with hazel eyes waited patiently, writing letters and sending gifts from dusty villages in places she couldn’t point to on a map. When her parents died, just five short months apart, the last remnants of his resolve begins to evaporate until the letters stop and Mary is alone with a ring and a home that imprisoned her. For twenty years, she teaches high school social studies and thinks about the life she could have lived with the boy she didn’t love enough to leave.

When the clouds begin to clear and cleanse the air of the overpowering humidity, Mary decides her 50th year will be unlike the others. She dares herself to (metaphorically) shatter the mirror before her and escape the bland, uncomplicated life she created for herself in defiance of parents who wanted her to be just like them.

That’s how Mary finds herself in a bar 100 miles away from her home, far from the prying eyes of her students and their families, dressed in the nicest outfit she owns. The ensemble is still safe, one she might wear to work if she were ever feeling courageous, comprised of black tapered slacks and a white lace blouse with a two extra buttons undone. A scarlet blazer is the centerpiece of the outfit, accentuating the sharp lines of her shoulders and the gentle curve of a waist. When her make-up and hair is done, Mary almost doesn’t recognize herself and this makes her smile for the first time that day.

Sitting at the counter, the teacher orders a glass of wine and is gracious when the bartender asks for her ID though there was no way the twenty-something server believed she was underage.

There is a young man with warm, caramel skin behind the counter, stacking glasses with the name Ambrose embroidered on his shirt and a mischievous smirk on his face. “It’s your birthday today? Happy Birthday!” Mary returns the smile with some discomfort as she realized this was the first time that day she’d heard those two words from another person. “Your first drink is on me. What would you like?” This time, her smile is more genuine when the bartender points to the shelf of liquor behind him.

“Surprise me.”

Ambrose is quick to begin assembling a concoction with a mysterious clear liquor with a bat on the logo. His movements are deliberate, measuring and pouring different color liquids until he’s ready to place a rainbow themed drink in front of the dark haired woman. Before Mary can take a sip, there is a colorful cocktail umbrella and plastic straw dropped into the drink.

“What is this?”

The wire haired man shrugs as he clears the counter of the mess he made. “Don’t know. Made it up.” Ambrose watches her when she learns forwards to wrap her lips around the straw, smiling brightly when the birthday girl hums excitedly.

“Damn, that’s good.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. Maybe you should be the one to name it.” The young bartender winks at her before whirling away to assist another customer, unaware of the blush rising on the schoolteacher’s cheeks from his attention. Mary turns away from the bar to gaze around the room, examining the other patrons with curiosity while she slowly sips her drink.

The interior wasn’t extraordinary. If anything, she might call the décor fairly _vintage_ , but the atmosphere was lovely and there wasn’t a soul to recognize her. That’s what she wanted the most when she Googled establishments on her phone earlier in the afternoon. She wanted to blend into the crowd and disappear. When she patronized the bars at home, there were always familiar faces of former classmates, now the parents of her students. An hour and a half was a long way to drive for solitude, but there was something special about the name that drew her in.

 _Spellman’s_.

Located in Greendale, Spellman’s was the closest this unassuming mining town had to an upscale establishment, offering customers an opportunity to escape their drab lives and experience a classier form of dining. At least, that’s what their website said, though with less insulting language. Obviously, the owners intended to pay homage to the Golden Age of Hollywood through a bold use of color and contrasts with metallic and glass accents dotted around the room. There certainly was an air of opulence and comfort that Mary finds pleasing, mesmerized by the navy blue walls and gold embossed designs.

While she’s contemplating taking a closer look, she fails to see the man who deposits himself next to her at the bar, swaying in his seat. Mary is assaulted by the smell of beer wafting from his open mouth before he can even speak a word, but she remains silent nevertheless as he ogles her without shame. She resists the urge to vomit under the pressure of his unpleasant odor and leering eye, not wanting Ambrose’s delightful potion to be wasted.

“A beautiful lady like yourself shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

Mary is unable to stop herself before rolling her eyes at the atrocious attempt at a pick up. Her dating skills might be a touch obsolete, but she can recognize a terrible line still. The teacher refuses to respond, cheating her body away from the grotesque man with stains on his shirt and hair oily enough to lubricate a car. With her eyes turned away, she fails to see his hand raised to touch her.

“Hey, I was talking to you, bi-” His slurred words are stopped short by the harsh sound of skin slapping together. Mary is so shocked by the sudden noise that she whips around to face the disturbance, causing her drink to slosh over the rim of the glass and land on the man’s wrinkled pants. Her hand is covered with the sticky liquid as well. With lips curled back in anger, he opens his mouth again and begins to struggle against the hand holding him back. “You bitch! Let me go!”

“I would think carefully about your next move, Mr. Klein.”

While she should have been upset by the altercation, Mary is momentarily distracted by the woman standing behind the brutish man with a voice that dripped smooth like bourbon, roughly grasping his wrist between perfectly manicured nails. Her strength did not waver, even as he thrashed in his seat and reached across the bar with his free hand for a pile of napkins to dab the wet spot on his slacks. The mystery woman looks like she stepped into a time machine exclusively with the purpose of escaping the 1950s to grace mere mortals of the 21st century with her timeless beauty. The two piece suit she wears is expertly tailored to draw attention to the sloping curvature of her shoulders and the delicate line of her waist with a midnight skirt reaching just above the ankles and an eye-catching leopard print jacket. She stands tall, certainly taller than Mary, in a matching pair of leopard print pumps that created the illusion of legs that never end. Her copper tresses are styled in a contemporary interpretation of victory rolls, cascading over her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. The village teacher has always known her own proclivity for the fairer sex, but never has a woman captivated her so thoroughly.

Zelda smirks teasingly as the dark haired woman in the red blazer watches her unabashedly while she continues to restrain Robert Klein, the foreman for the new housing development taking form down the road from Spellman’s. In the short time since the project broke ground, the contemptuous lush of a man had become a thorn in her side and this encounter would be his third strike. There was very little chance that he would leave her lounge without a fight, so she raises her free hand to signal Dominic, their pseudo-bouncer to stand by for the impending conflict. The burly man with a military hair cut appears behind her immediately, waiting for his boss to give a command.

When Klein flexes his arm and prepares to yank himself from her grip, the redhead waits for the opportune moment and releases the appendage, sending his own fist flying into his face with a loud _SMACK_. Mary Wardwell watches the man as he slides from the stool, nose clutched between one hand, and turns aggressively toward the nameless woman. His hand is raised, ready to strike her, but the glare on her face stops his tracks.

“The last man who raised a hand to me is six feet under.” The temperature of the room drops as the voices around them dwindle to a whisper when Zelda speaks, her tone even and scathing. She takes a step towards him, forcing the imprudent man to scurry away from the bar as she stands protectively in front of the stranger watching her with wide eyes. “I would implore you to learn from his mistakes.”

Barely a second passes before Robert Klein throws his fist back to strike the owner, too quickly for even Dominic to respond from his place six feet away. However, the larger man doesn’t move a muscle because he knows the petite woman could handle herself. Just as Klein’s fist clears the distance between them, Zelda veers her head to the right, takes hold of his wrist again and ducks blow his elbow to wrench the drunken man’s arm behind his back. She ignores his shout of pain and shoves him towards her bouncer’s waiting arms, utilizing his own intoxication and lack of balance to maneuver his significantly larger body the short distance. He struggles under the former army ranger’s strength, spewing obscenities as he’s pushed through the room.

“Dominic, please inform Mr. Klein that he is no longer welcome here.” The bouncer gives her a thumbs up, forcing the man over the threshold of the lounge. Even after both men have exited the building, the room remains silent, watching the red haired woman with apprehensive eyes.

As Zelda spins towards her, Mary’s voice fails her now that the beautiful woman who just rescued her from that atrocious man was standing near. Luckily, she has a moment to compose herself when the other woman speaks first.

“Please follow me, Ms…”

“Wardwell, Mary Wardwell.” The teacher doesn’t protest, simple sets the nearly empty glass from her hand onto the bar and follows the woman whose name she still doesn’t know through the room of prying eyes. She is led behind a velvet curtain into a dimly lit hallway where the redhead opens the last door on the right, motioning for her to enter the single stall restroom.

“Feel free to take your time cleaning up, Ms. Wardwell. My office is just across the hall if you’d like to join me for a drink. The invitation is open, no pressure.” Without further fanfare, Zelda leaves the dark haired woman alone, returning to her office. Once inside, she uses the phone on her desk to call Ambrose behind the bar.

“Are you alright, Auntie? I should have been paying more attention to Klein and cut him off sooner.” Her nephew sounds apologetic, though there wasn’t a reason for him to be.

“Don’t worry, Ambrose. Your job is to serve drinks, not babysit drunken fools.” She can hear him begin to apologize again, but she’s too distracted by the soft _tap tap tap_ on the door to stop him. “Come in.” Mary stands awkwardly in the doorway while the mystery woman finishes her conversation. “Ambrose, stop fussing. Just bring a refill of the drink Ms. Wardwell had earlier and my usual, thank you.” The mysterious woman waves her hand for Mary to take a seat on the black leather couch across from the door while she waits for the person on the phone to finish speaking. Once the phone is returned to the cradle, she joins the teacher on the couch, crossing her knees delicately and sinking into the soft furniture. When her gaze is focused solely on Mary, the educator cannot stop the rise of color to her cheeks as the woman offers her sincere apologies for the altercation that had taken place a few short minutes before.

“Please, you don’t need to apologize. If anything, I should be thanking you, Ms…” Mary pleads, tucking a stray curl behind her ear when the red haired woman holds her hand out to shake.

“Zelda Spellman, I own and manage this lovely establishment.” Their hands touch briefly and there isn’t one of those Hallmark _sparks_ but the tentative confidence radiating from the enchanting woman’s body is enough to intrigue Zelda. She was curious about the strange woman who was spending her birthday alone, according to Ambrose. The eldest Spellman wasn’t a fan of her own birthday for personal reasons, but she would be remiss to allow the soft spoken woman to remain alone for the evening.

There is a knock at the door and Ambrose’s appearance halts the conversation as he enters carrying a serving tray with two glasses. One short with an amber liquid and another with colors similar to the drink Mary was enjoying before her evening was disturbed. He is silent while he deposits the two drinks on the table in front of the woman.

“Thank you, Ambrose.” His aunts says, never taking her eyes from Mary who blushes even harder, unused to having a beautiful woman pay such close attention to her. “Has the house settled after Klein’s little tantrum?”

“Oh, you will certainly be the talk of the town tomorrow after that display. So much for shaking your reputation.” She turns to face her nephew when he chuckles, flashing Mary his dimples and pearly white teeth. The teacher looks perplexed by the missing details of their conversation, but shakes the curiosity away. In the back of her mind, she hoped there would be the opportunity to learn more about this enigmatic woman. Ambrose nods to them both before spinning on his heels to exit the room, stopping briefly to address the redhead again. “Just give me a call if you need anything else, Auntie. I’ll keep an eye on things tonight.”

“As I was saying, thank you, Ms. Spellman.” Mary continues after the door closes behind the young man, smiling brightly at the woman who looked more like a runway model than a restaurant owner.

“You can call me Zelda, dear.” She flirts shamelessly, flashing her guest a full, wine-colored stained smile before handing Mary her drink and reaching for her own. The teacher takes a long sip from the tall glass, allowing the liquor to envelop her body. More accustomed to drinking wine and hard seltzer, the rum mixture greatly relaxes her as she allows her body to melt into the couch.

“Oh, then you should call me Mary then, Zelda.” Much like her drink, the woman’s name tastes sweet on her lips and she must stop herself from indulgently repeating it over and over.

“So, what brings you to our little town? I know everyone here and your face is undoubtedly one I would remember.”

For a moment, Mary considers telling the beautiful woman a lie to hide the depressing reason she’d chosen to drive almost two hours to a town she never heard of to drink her sorrows away at a bar where no one would recognize her, but there was something compelling about the sincerity of the emerald green eyes staring at her that convinced Mary the truth was favorable.

“I didn’t want to spend my birthday home alone. Drinking in a room full of strangers sounded more exciting than what I had planned.” She can feel the dark cloud that follows her return, threatening to drown the room with her sorrows. Mary expects that Zelda will decide to end their conversation and quickly escape the shadow hanging over the woman with ebony locks flowing down her back. The other woman watches her intently, eyes narrowed in deep thought, causing her companion to squirm under the scrutiny. After a few moments, Zelda’s face breaks into an eager smile and Mary can almost see the wheels turning behind green eyes that she is growing quite fond of.

“Well, Mr. Klein was right about one thing this evening,” Her voice is strong, wrapping around Mary like a soothing embrace. “You are a beautiful woman and you will not be drinking alone tonight.”

Those are the last words Mary recalls the next day before the evening morphed into absolute debauchery.


	2. Mary Wardwell, Pancake Flipper Extraordinaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary meets the littlest member of the Spellman Family and Zelda takes a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! 
> 
> A second update so quickly is a rarity for me, but I am enjoying this story thoroughly. Sorry if you're waiting for new chapters of my other stories. I'll try to get to them soon.

_Those are the last words Mary remembers the next day before the evening morphed into absolute debauchery._

When she claws her way back to the land of the living the next morning, Mary opens her eyes to an unfamiliar room that looked too homely to be the rundown motel she passed on her drive into town the previous day. Her body feels like there were 10,000 bricks weighing her down as a construction team drills hole after hole directly into her skull. Thankfully, there is a maroon comforter to shield her eyes from the oppressively bright light escaping through sheer curtains. From beneath the blanket, Mary takes stock of her night, filled with vague memories of Zelda Spellman and her mischievous spirit, intent on celebrating the teacher’s birthday with fine food and liquor in abundance. She was so taken by the redheaded woman that the word “no” never crossed her mind as Ambrose poured shots and ordered decadent plates from the kitchen. The other patrons were awestruck watching the two women laugh like they’d known each other for years. By the time midnight fell over the lounge, they were thoroughly drunk, lost in their own world from the corner booth.

There was a moment where Mary distinctly remembers thinking Zelda is an angel. A paragon of good sent to rescue the lonely woman from her life of isolation, pulling her from the murky waters that threatened to drown her heart. Maybe it was the lights that only seemed to glow brighter the more they drank, casting a halo around vibrant red hair. Or, the melodious sounds that escaped rouge lips when she threw her head back to laugh.

As pounding in Mary’s head begins to taper off to a three drillers max, there is the sound of a door opening from across the modestly sized room. She waits for a person to speak or to hear their footsteps, but is met with near silence until a very quiet tap of ceramic against wood has her rotating around under the covers. When she tentatively peaks her head from under the blanket, two tiny, brown eyes stare back at her.

An adorable girl with curly brown pigtails watches her, head tilted curiously. She couldn’t be more than five or six years old, a few inches taller than the bed. Mary goes to speak, but the child holds her finger up to _shh_ the hungover woman.

“Mama says you should take the medicine before trying to get up.” She whispers in the way only children can, which isn’t really a whisper but they don’t need to know that. Her little hand points towards the steaming teacup on the side table and a saucer with two Motrin pills. For a moment, Mary considers going back to sleep, confident that she wasn’t in the home of a serial killer because what serial killer sends a child to deliver tea and pain killers to their future victim. Except, her miniature companion seems determined to see her consume the hangover cure, waiting with bated breath. With a slight groan as the muscles in her back protest, the dark haired woman brings her body to an upright position on the bed, dangling her feet over the edge.

Leticia Spellman takes a step backwards, watching the strange woman who returned home with her mama as she cautiously sipped the steaming cup of tea. Zelda was very clear that she shouldn’t disturb their guest, but Letty didn’t see the harm since the woman was already awake. If you could even call her disheveled state _awake_. With tangled hair, the curious woman looked she’d crashed her bicycle into a bush which the young girl remembers doing many times with a shudder. Her mama was displeased with her cousin Ambrose for letting the bike escape his grip in the driveway while teaching her to ride without training wheels. But, Letty was a big girl, so she didn’t cry when Aunt Hilda pulled her from the brush and began the process of pulling twigs and leaves from her coarse hair. Once her hair was cleared, she pulled her bike from the bush and continued to crash until she could ride down the driveway without Ambrose’s help.

As Mary sips the tea, comprised of an unknown mixture of herbs and leaves, she watches the young girl that she assumes is the daughter Zelda affectionately mentioned before their drinking took a turn for the worst. Her eyes sparkled like stars when she spoke about her pride and joy. In that moment, there was a subtle sensation that left scorch marks Mary’s heart. If she wasn’t careful, the spinster schoolteacher might find herself falling in love with the fiery haired woman.

Upon second evaluation, the notion of falling in love with Zelda Spellman didn’t sound half bad.

“What is your name, Sweet Pea?” She asks the little girl.

“My name is Leticia Phiona Spellman, just like mama. Her middle name is Phiona too, so we’re twins.” Leticia tells the woman excitedly. “What’s your name? Mama said you’re a teacher.”

“Well, my students call me Ms. Wardwell. But, my friends call me Mary.” She doesn’t mention that she doesn’t actually have any friends, but that was beside the point of her conversation with the toddler.

“Are we friends?” Letty asks inquisitively, waiting eagerly as Mary finishes the tea and consumes the pain killers. The teacher pretends to think hard about the question, tapping her finger against her chin.

“Well, do you like comic books?” Obviously, the girl is a fan if the trademark DC comic hero logo on her pajamas are an indication. Nevertheless, her smile threatens to overtake her face as she nods her head yes. “Then, I think we will be the best of friends, Supergirl.”

Leticia grasps audibly at the nickname.

“How did you know this was Supergirl’s logo and not Superman?” She demands to know. Her lips turn to a frown when the older woman shakes her head.

“That is a secret.” The young comic aficionado looks like she might protest the non-answer, but the sound of a familiar voice calling her name draws their attention. Without waiting of permission, she takes Mary’s hand and drags her from the bed and through the room. There is barely five seconds for the woman to make sure that she’s presentable before she’s ushered out the door. Her hair was a lost cause, but at least she was wearing a pair of borrowed pajamas, though she didn’t think the flannel pants and The Rolling Stones t-shirt belonged to the girl’s stylish mother.

On their journey down the staircase, Mary catches glimpses of family photos through the years. She only recognizes Zelda and Ambrose’s faces, sweet and round from youth. Towards the bottom, there are more pictures of the little girl clutching Mary’s hand, often with Zelda and a blonde teenager. Their shared smiles are heartwarming and genuine, which prompts the woman to ruminate on her own parents, who rejected the entire notion of being caring and affectionate with their daughter. Without being told, she already knows Zelda is the type of mother who kisses booboos and tucks her daughter into bed each night. She envies her new friend for the love she never received as a child, but the thought quickly escapes her thoughts.

Just as they reach the final stair, there is a burst of movement from the doorway to the left. The young blonde girl from the photographs, dressed in a red and yellow cheerleading uniform with the letter B displayed across the torso, races through the foyer, barely paying attention to her surroundings. She has a duffle bag with pompoms sticking out of the side slung over her shoulder.

“‘Brina!” Leticia calls out, releasing Mary’s hand to capture her cousin in a vice like hug. Sabrina stops her movements to return her cousin’s affection and greet the woman standing awkwardly by the steps.

“You must be Mary. Auntie Zee has been talking about you all morning.” Sabrina gushes, knowing full well that she might catch heat from her aunt later for spilling the beans to the mystery woman she bought home last night. The redhead was notoriously guarded about her personal life, which she claimed not to have, so the second youngest Spellman wasn’t the least bit upset when Ambrose woke her shortly after dawn to tell the tale of the older women’s evening of debauchery. She wanted nothing more than to stay and interrogate Mary Wardwell, but there was an away game today and she needed to be on the bus in 15 minutes or she was getting left behind. “I really wish I could stay and chat, but there’s a game this afternoon and I’ve gotta catch the bus. It was nice to meet you.” With a quick kiss pressed to the tiny Spellman’s forehead, the blonde races out the door with a wave before Mary can even respond.

“Bye, ‘Brina!” Leticia yells behind the closing door.

“Leticia Spellman, what do we say about yelling in the house?”

Like the previous evening, when Zelda appears under the doorway to the kitchen, the sight of her steals the air from Mary’s lungs.

_Good lord, has she always been this gay? Or, is this woman special?_

There is little doubt in Mary’s mind that Zelda Spellman is something special, maybe even precious. Especially now that she’s seen the ferocious woman dodge a punch, knock back shot after shot, and now has the privilege of seeing her without make up first thing in the morning. And, the Supergirl pajamas she wears with matching fuzzy slippers chisels away another block of stone from the atrophied organ masquerading as her heart. Their eyes meet over the steaming cup of coffee that Zelda takes a sip from as her daughter speaks.

“Only ‘barians yell in the house.” She smiles rather than correct the preschooler’s valiant attempt at the word “barbarian.”

“And, are you a barbarian, my love?” Leticia shakes her head vigorously at the thought.

“No, I’m a little girl.”

“And, a beautiful little girl you are.” Zelda tells her, bending over to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Now, it’s time to get dressed. Auntie Hilda is at work, so we’re on our own for breakfast today.”

Mary isn’t sure what mystical force compels her to speak in this moment, but she’s desperate to remain in the Spellman Home. She isn’t ready to return to her empty home in the town where everyone avoids her like the plague.

“I can make breakfast.” The two Spellman ladies wear contradictory expressions. Leticia claps her hands together enthusiastically and prances into the kitchen, babbling about wanting pancakes. Zelda opens her mouth to reject the idea, but Mary beats her to the punch. “I insist, it’s the least I can do. You did make sure I had a place to rest my head last night.” The genuine smile on Mary’s face convinces her to allow the woman to make them breakfast.

“Well, I would be remiss to allow you to spend the night in Horace’s atrocious motel when there was a perfectly good guest room here. Especially after I was the one who got your rip-roaring drunk.” She tries to downplay the kind gesture, but Mary was having none of that. With a touch of courage from the slow evaporating headache, the teacher takes a step towards Zelda and places an unexpected kiss to the woman’s cheek.

“I bet you say that to all the girls who step into your lounge.” Mary teases, delighted that she seems to have the upper hand against the woman who kept her blushing scarlet all night with flirtatious touches and saucy innuendo. If there was anything to be learned from the previous evening, the docile schoolteacher would need to step up her game quite significantly to keep up with the audacious redhead.

“Only the drop dead gorgeous ones.” She bites back, twisting her neck to peer into the kitchen, looking for her daughter. Luckily, when she places her free hand on Mary’s waist and pulls her close, Leticia has her head buried in the lower level cabinets to retrieve the mixing bowls they will need to make pancakes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you a proper wake up call.”

The dark haired woman’s cheeks burn as she tilts her head to meet Zelda’s seductive stare. For a moment, there is a brief _will they or won’t they_ before the taller woman begins to press heated kisses to the side of Mary’s face until reaching her final destination. When their lips meet, a jolt of electricity courses through their bodies, traveling from their heads to the tips of their toes. They move languidly with a frightening familiarity until the crashing of a bowl on the floor yanks them back to reality.

“I believe there is a little girl waiting for pancakes, Ms. Wardwell.” Zelda comments with a crooked grin. Mary doesn’t respond to her cheekiness, just places another kiss to her lips and strolls into the kitchen with a calculated sway of her hips.

Breakfast is a rambunctious affair filled with laughter and a wealth of information gained about mother and daughter.

Mary learns that Leticia is a talented sous chef, diligent as she follows the teacher’s directions seamlessly. She is careful when she measures ingredients and knows where every tool they need is stored. Apparently, she has spent a significant amount of time in the kitchen with this ‘Aunt Hilda.’ Her mother, on the other hand, left much to be desired as a cook. So, with a huff, the eldest Spellman is relegated to the kitchen table with her coffee cup after burning the first batch of bacon. Mind you, the bacon met a blackened end because she couldn’t stop herself from watching the extraordinary woman teaching her daughter how to make pancakes. Their teamwork is effortless as though they’d known each other for years and had perfected their partnership.

In that way, Leticia was more like her cousin Sabrina, who never had a problem making friends when she began school. They shared a joyfulness that caused people to gravitate towards them, wanting to join their orbit for a taste of their happiness. Zelda, as the middle Spellman child, was always more reserved. She was decidedly more open than her late brother, whose insides were built of rough edges and piercing words. Her core was tender and fragile, guarded by a tower that gave Rapunzel a run for her money. Fortunately, Hilda fared better than them both, with a kind and welcoming disposition that people loved and cherished. Even going to the grocery store was a struggle because her little sister knew everyone in town and had to speak to each person they encountered. There was a time where Zelda envied her sister and wanted to be more like the vibrant blonde, but circumstances changed that.

Watching Mary and Leticia, Zelda wonders what compelled her to bring the stranger home simply to sleep. Even after a single night of drinking and eating, she knows there isn’t a dangerous bone in Mary Wardwell’s body. If anything, the schoolteacher was a kindred spirit, with a melancholy air that Zelda is too familiar with. Luckily, she has Letty, Hilda, Sabrina, and Ambrose to shower her with love and light, but she sensed that Mary didn’t have anyone and the thought made her heart ache. The answer to her question comes when the dark haired woman throws her head back to laugh at something Letty says, filling the room with warmth as she angles her head to watch the girl’s mother from the corner of her eye. When their eyes meet across the room, they quickly avert their gazes with rose tinted cheeks.

Mary busies herself with the heated pan on the stove. She instructs Leticia to place a sliver of butter on the hot metal, swirling it around to coat the surface. Once melted, she hands the girl a 1/3 measuring cup and motions for her to scoop the batter onto the plan. Her sous chef is meticulous as she dips the scoop, making sure there is a fair amount of crushed bacon pieces mixed in the batter. They wait for the edges of the pancake to crisp and for the surface to begin to bubble.

“Do you want to see something cool?” Mary asks her conspiratorially, feeling Zelda’s gaze on the back of her neck. The little girl nods vigorously, dislodging tiny flecks of flour from the surface of her clothes. “Alright, go take a seat.” Letty runs across the room and climbs into her mother’s lap, who pulls her daughter close as they watch their guest remove the pan from the stove. “Now, watch close.”

Facing the two captivated women, Mary tests the weight of the pan in her hand and finds the sweet spot to clutch the handle. With a simple flick of her wrist, the pancake is sent soaring into the air as Leticia gasps animatedly. After three flips, it falls back onto the pan with the perfectly golden side facing up. When the pan is returned to the burner, the dark haired woman faces her audience of two and takes a theatrical bow.

“Wow, Mary. That was amazing!” The five year old praises from between her mother’s arms. She is blissfully unaware of the two adults watching each other with sickeningly sweet stares as she climbs down and returns to her place at the counter with a step stool. When the next pancake enters the pan, Leticia twists her body to face her mother. “Can you flip the pancake like that, Mama?”

“Oh, no, dear. You know the kitchen is my kryptonite.” Zelda shakes her head insistently.

“Well, why don’t you ask Mary to teach you?” Her daughter asks her innocently, unaware of the scenario she’s forced the two women into. She looks at Mary, who simple shrugs to say _why not?_

Realizing that she’s been backed into a corner, the redhead abandons her coffee to join them at the stove. Mary is grinning like the proverbial cat as she instructs Zelda on where to grip the handle, though her voice is completely professional. If she squints hard enough, she can see how the flirtatious woman might be a good teacher, even to hyperactive teenagers. When they step away from the stove with the pan held tightly in Zelda’s grip, the dark haired woman places a firm hand on her waist as she presses into the woman’s back and holds the tail end of the handle to share the weight. There is a part of Zelda that wants to protest the over-familiarity but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying the challenge the daring woman posed.

“Ok, on three, flick your wrist.” Her breath is hot on Zelda’s neck as their bodies merge together. “One… Two… Three.” She’s barely prepared to flick her wrist and she’s grateful that Mary is behind her to do most of the work of guiding their hands into place to catch the pancake. Still, Leticia begins to clap proudly when her mother sets the pan back on the stove. The teacher and the young comic enthusiast are able to complete their breakfast task without further disturbance, laughing and trading facts about their favorite heroes.

In a few short minutes, a towering stack of fluffy bacon pancakes is placed on the kitchen table just as Ambrose makes an appearance for the first time that morning. He isn’t surprised to see Mary Wardwell sitting at the table and doesn’t bat a lash when Leticia informs him that her new friend Mary likes superheroes and knew how to flip pancakes. After all, he was the one who escorted the two women home last night after his aunt refused to subject her new acquaintance to the crummy motel outside of town. Watching the women blush like school girls over the kitchen table makes him confident that there will be more than just friendship between them. Rather than stir the pot, the young man simply retrieves a plate from the cabinet and joins them at the table, sitting next to his cousin.

“Mama, can we watch Supergirl with Mary after breakfast?”

“We will see, dear. Mary might be ready to return home soon, so don’t get your hopes up.” When Letty’s smile begins to droop, Mary is convinced that she would never leave the Spellman Home if it meant keeping the littlest one happy. As they eat, she watches Zelda for any indication that she’s worn her welcome but finds the other woman smiling back at her as their bare calves brush under the table. With spotless plates, Ambrose lifts his cousin from her booster seat and throws the giggling child over his shoulder.

“Alright, who is ready to watch Kara Danvers kick bad guy butt?”

“I am!” This time, when Leticia yells, Zelda doesn’t reprimand her. She feels guilty for dimming her daughter’s light, but she doesn’t want to keep Mary here long than she wishes to be. If only she knew how much the other woman desired to stay in their cozy home. They sit in silence, unsure of how to proceed, and weary of overstepping boundaries with each other. A morning of flirtation is a distant memory now that they have the room to themselves.

Zelda leaves the table first, collecting the empty plates and begins the arduous task of returning Hilda’s kitchen to its original order. She rinses the sticky dishes before placing them in the dishwasher and fills the sink to clean the remaining bowls and utensils. Her hands are buried in soapy water when the other woman in the room begins to speak.

“Zelda, can I ask you a question?” The redhead halts her task for a moment to consider what the question might be but figures the only way to find out would be allow Mary to ask it.

“Yes, but I do reserve the right to refuse to answer.” She replies without turning around. The tension in her spine is apparent to the naked eye. Several minutes pass before Mary amasses the courage to ask the question that burned in the back of her mind since they met the evening before.

“What did you mean last night when you said the last man that raised a hand to you was six feet under?”

Mary does not know what compels her to ask the incredibly invasive question. She contemplates the previous evening, somewhat clouded by the taste of hard liquor and decadent sweets. Even as the women laughed and held each other close like friends reuniting for the first time in years, the solitary woman could feel the crowd’s eyes and whispers knocking at the door of their peaceful bubble. A woman who has spent so much time alone knows the feeling of judgmental stares, the ridicule of strangers. The sensation was detectable, even while heavily intoxicated. Still, she wants to know more about the woman who rescued her from that miserable excuse for a man. In fact, there isn’t a single detail, big or small, that she doesn’t want to know about Zelda Spellman who has given way to an insatiable craving simply by being.

Across the room, Zelda has stopped washing dishes and dries her hand with a towel before taking a seat at the table. Her expression is grim as she contemplates the outcomes of telling Mary the truth. In Greendale, the accepted truth matters more than the actual truth, which is often the case for small towns like their own. For stay at home moms and retirees, gossip is an extremely valuable currency and the details of Zelda Spellman’s personal life has always been like gold. There wasn’t a soul in town, save for her family and loyal staff, that hadn’t participated in the finger pointing and poorly concealed whispering when she strolls through town. Even with Leticia around, they were like vultures, picking at her bones until there wasn’t a single piece of meat left.

_Would Mary do the same? Would she flee, back to her life hours away? Away from the darkness surrounding Zelda’s life?_

Seeing the redhead’s trepidation, Mary reaches for her hand to stop her nervous fidgeting as she considered her words carefully. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Zelda.” She raises the woman’s hand to her lips and presses her lips sweetly to pale flesh. “I’m sorry for asking.”

Instead of driving herself mad with doubt, Zelda clears her throat and shifts her gaze to Mary as the dark haired woman watches her with a thoughtful expression. Her lips are pressed into a soft smile, but her eyes are the real crucial competent that relieves Zelda of her fears. They are earnest and without judgment, a striking difference from the stares she experiences every time she leaves the house.

“As you can tell, Leticia is not my biological daughter. I adopted her when I married her father, a man name Faustus who was married to a good friend of mine, Constance. They owned _Spellman’s_ before my family assumed ownership and changed the name. When Letty was 2, her mother fell ill and by the time the doctors diagnosed her cancer, there was little they could do except make her final days comfortable.” She begins her sordid tale. “Even though we live in a time where same sex attracted people are commonly accepted, there are exceptions, especially in tiny, close minded towns like Greendale. I would never have been allowed to adopt as a single woman, even with an upstanding community presence.” Mary nods understandingly. “Constance knew this and begged me to take care of Letty after her passing, as outlandish as this story will sound. She didn’t think Faustus would be a good father on his own and she was right.” When she speaks her late husband’s name, there is a burning sensation in her stomach, like a volcano of anger threatening to erupt. Still, Zelda bravely powers through her story. “When I offered to adopt Leticia, Faustus outright refused except under the condition that I marry him, allowing him to transfer financial responsibility of the failing restaurant/bar onto me. Without another option short of kidnapping Letty and skipping town, I accepted.”

Zelda takes a moment to catch her breath, pausing to leave the table and begin the time consuming process of brewing a pot of espresso. Though they own a more expedient machine, there is something gratifyingly tactile about the Belgian Balance Brewer that she retrieves from the top shelf of the pantry. This particular piece of equipment is a modern take on an old model with an automatic spring to keep the counterweighted cap in place. She fills the kettle on the right with fresh water from the faucet and measures the appropriate amount of ground beans into the left vessel. Weighed down by the water, the cap remains open thanks to the heavy kettle and affords her space to light the cloth wick underneath with a Zippo from the drawer. As the steam from the kettle begins to fill the vessel with water, Zelda sneaks her hand into a cabinet filled with decorative dishware to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a gold holder.

When Zelda lights her own cigarette and then holds the pack out to Mary, the dark haired woman accepts. She was not a frequent smoker, but she does not deny the calming effect the tobacco has on her body as she inhales deeply. Getting to watch the red haired woman wrap her lips around the cotton filter is also a benefit, she reasons halfway through. They take turns silently tapping their ash into the abandoned cup from Zelda’s first attempt at caffeinating that morning. By the time they are finished with their respective cigarettes, Zelda far sooner than Mary, the espresso has finished brewing. She stands again to fill two smaller cups with steaming espresso, setting one in front of the schoolteacher.

Her first sip is a taste of enlightenment and inspiration to continue her story.

“On my own, there was only so much arranging of the books that I could do to keep things in working order. Thankfully, Hilda and Ambrose were tremendously helpful with breathing life back into the restaurant with their unique sets of skills. Of course, the gossip mongers were suspicious of the marriage and weary of me raising Leticia, but that didn’t bother me. I was happy managing the restaurant and taking care of Constance’s daughter.” She places another cigarette in the holder and lights it. “Unfortunately, Faustus’s financial troubles went far beyond one failing restaurant and I learned he was in debt to some very unsavory people a few towns over. When I returned from out of town one weekend, his car was missing and a struggle had taken place in our home. The police questioned me for days and refused to believe that Faustus was involved with any illegal dealings, despite the fact that they did not have enough evidence to prove I was responsible. But, I was the town tramp who married a dead woman’s husband barely three months after she was buried. Even after proving my innocence, the town continues to believe I was responsible for his disappearance.” With the story complete, Zelda feels her resolve begin to crumble as her hands tremble, shaking ash onto the table until she drops the still lit cigarette into the coffee up.

Sipping her espresso, Mary has a sudden sense of clarity about the previous evening. She understands Zelda’s position, her preference that the town feared her for possible killing her husband and hiding the body. The alternative was undesirable to a woman built of confidence and ego. To have people pity her for wanting a child so desperately that she would marry a man like Faustus and accept his financial failings as her own was appalling. At the end of the day, the truth spoken in the Spellman Household mattered more than whatever the idiots in town chose to believe and the truth was that Zelda would give her life for her daughter. And, really, what more could be asked of her?

Without a word, the dark haired woman walks to the other side of the table and turns Zelda’s chair toward her so she can lean down and press a soft kiss to the speechless woman’s quivering lips.

“You believe me? That I didn’t kill him?” She asks desperately in an uncharacteristic display of raw emotion with tears pooling in her eyes as she wraps her arms around Mary’s waist. When a single tear escapes soft green eyes, her companion raises a hand to wipe it away.

“I believe that there are many women with exceptionally good reasons for killing their husbands,” she begins quietly, taking Zelda’s face between her palms, “and while you certainly would have been justified, I don’t think you would have taken such a risk. I can tell that Leticia is the most important person in your life and killing him wouldn’t have benefited her.” Staring down at the single mother, she can tell Zelda isn’t convinced that Mary believes she’s innocent, so she rephrases her answer. “Yes, Zelda Spellman, I believe you when you say that you did not kill your husband.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

For the first time since Faustus’s disappearance, the red haired woman breathes a sigh of relief. To know there is another human being, outside of her family, that believes her is a gift. In under 24 hours, Mary Wardwell has managed to show her a world she only dreamed possible. And, though the complexity of her emergent feelings terrifies her, Zelda refuses to allow the fantastical woman escape her grasp.

As she stares up at Mary, Zelda’s emerald eyes begin to droop as the sordid tale weighs on her body and mind. She does not resist when the dark haired woman leads her to the stairs, wrapping a strong arm around her waist to support the exhausted woman’s journey to the second floor. When she realizes that she does not know which room is Zelda’s, Mary leads her to the guest room and _shhs_ the single mother when she protests being placed in the bed. With her chin tucked beneath the maroon comforter, Zelda reaches for Mary’s hand as the woman turns to leave.

“Stay, please.”

That is how Ambrose finds them an hour later, sequestered between the sheets, with Mary tucked protectively around his aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the Supergirl reference this chapter, check out my SuperCorp story. Our favorite gay ladies must survive the end of the world and find time for themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my story <3<3<3
> 
> Here is where I shamelessly plug my Madam Spellman story titled “Operation:Rescue Lilith.” Everyone’s an assassin and it’s awesomeeeee.


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